


Innocens

by cute_will_kill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, Master/Slave, Probable holmcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cute_will_kill/pseuds/cute_will_kill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where anyone born with a special mark is seen as an underling, Mycroft is a privileged child with two 'pets'- John and Greg- but when Mycroft's own brother is born with a mark his parents tell him his brother died but they got him a new pet, will the truth ever come out or will they stay in the dark forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

At the start. The beginning. There was only black, black night, dark as pitch in fact. Then the stars spread out over the heavens like fairy lights; coming on one by one. They sat like glitter on dark paper, small winking points.

The sun, one of those seemingly tiny stars, burned bright over the worlds. The moons, the sun's counterparts, orbit the world that is  _our_ beginning.

Because, as much as I'd love to focus on those other six worlds, we'll just have to look at this one. For now.

At the start there was a fiery sun, seven planets and millions upon millions of tiny stars spread out over the universe.

Now our story starts with a choice. One small choice, made by two people in the middle of the night.

And- as is often the case with these things- this choice is to have some unforeseen consequences.

Our story starts with a small child crying.

Crying for something he's lost, but that he never had.

Crying because he can't quite understand, no matter how much he  _wants_  to.

Our story starts- as all of them do- with a beginning.

All stories have them; whether they're long or short, amazing or poor, incomplete or finished. It doesn't matter because every story has a beginning.

So here it goes; here's this beginning.

In the beginning there's a world, a beautiful world with many wonderful people and a few who aren't so good. In the beginning there's a child crying and a couples choice.

In the beginning there's a sun and seven planets and thousands,  _thousands_  of stars. Enough for the sky to become beautiful and alight. Enough for one to be lost.

But before we get lost, we need to start. Are you ready?

Then let's.

In the beginning... Well in the beginning there was innocence.

 


	2. Prologue II

So now, now we've established our beginning.

We begin with a child, a beautiful child with short black hair and pale limbs.

His parents were so happy, until he opened his eyes.

You see, before this story can truly begin one most explain the circumstances.

There are things called alleles; I'll take eye colour as am example of how they work to explain the principle.

If you have a dominant allele- brown eyes- you always get the characteristic it codes for, even if you only have one of those alleles.

If you have a recessive allele- blue eyes- you can only get blue eyes if you have both recessive alleles the same.

If you have one dominant allele and one recessive then you become a carrier for that recessive gene. You don't have that disease or condition because you have the dominant allele to rely upon.

However alleles don't just control eye colour but everything, hair colour, eye colour... genetic diseases.

You've heard of Cystic Fibrosis, yes? A genetic disease that affects the respiratory system.

Well our story is set around a disease- much like Cystic Fibrosis- that is controlled by genes; if you receive two recessive alleles instead of two dominant of one off each, then you get the disease.

But to tell you the truth; this isn't a very nice beginning. To be quite plain, this story in general isn't nice.

But- if you want to continue- I suppose I should begin where everything began.

Our story begins with the baby.

Technically.

However, in many ways, it starts in ancient times. It started and people couldn't stop it. Didn't know anything about it. You know when that happens, it's bad.

You know when that happens, people will die.

And they did just that. They died and the others died too.

But people only cared about the people. The others were nothing; monsters, demons, evil personified.

So the monsters were hunted, killed off.

People were scared, so scared of this change. A change they didn't understand. How very human of them.

However it was still a mystery to them and so they continued to hunt them.

You see, children were mysteriously born able to do things, looking different too and they were born to seemingly ordinary parents. People were afraid and killed their children; they were possessed by devils and demons, they were dead already.

Some survived, they rescued more babies. They lived where 'normals' didn't, in forests and high in the hills and mountains.

Babies were born with completely black eyes; no whites or irises, just black. If they were allowed to reach maturity as some were- by parents who just couldn't bring themselves to kill them- their irises became coloured at three years old, the colour slowly replacing the black in a ring. The children were also born with two crossed scars over one eye; the eye depended on which side of the body is dominant however the size depends on the person. Some are huge jagged 'X's that can stretch down to their chin, some- occasionally- are tiny and faint and then others can be purple and twisted; all depending on who you are.

That's just external; there are many other gifts that can't automatically be seen.

So, can you see why the people of the seventh world were scared?

In time people began to realise that 'others' could be made to be slaves. There were enough; one in twenty babies were born with the Underling Condition, as it has become known as, and so they were taken at birth or sold off by the family and given to whoever could pay for them; after all, why bother checking peoples intentions if these people were no better than some mindless creatures?

So there you are, that is the big picture, your big beginning.

And of course, I know, that right now you can't quite see it, can you? But I promise you in the beginning there was innocence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Check us out on Tumblr at cute-will-kill
> 
> From M and C


	3. Interlude I

_How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes_

_I struggle to find any truth in your lies_

_And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know_

_My weakness I feel I must finally show_

_Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all_

_But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall_

_Lend me your eyes I can change what you see_

_But your soul you must keep totally free_

_Awake my soul, awake my soul_

_How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes_

_I struggle to find any truth in your lies_

_And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know_

_My weakness I feel I must finally show_

_In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die_

_Where you invest your love, you invest your life_

_In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die_

_And where you invest your love, you invest your life_

_Awake my soul, awake my soul_

_Awake my soul_

_For you were made to meet your maker_

_Awake my soul, awake my soul_

_Awake my soul_

_For you were made to meet your maker_

_You were made to meet your maker_


	4. Chapter I

"What do we do?!"

 Silence. 

 

"Violet? Violet look at me!"

 

Silence. 

 

"Violet? Violet please..." 

 

"I don't know Siger..." 

 

A sigh and then; "We could keep him..." 

 

Silence, stony this time. 

 

"We could Violet! Don't look at me that way." 

 

"It's impossible Siger! Just impossible, not to mention illegal!" 

 

"But-"

 

"There's a reason for those laws Siger! He's tainted, evil!" 

 

"I didn't mean keep him like that Violet..." 

 

Silence, and then; "How?" 

 

"We could give him to Mycroft, as a present." 

 

Silence. 

 

"Violet?" 

 

"Yes. We could do that, we won't lose him entirely and he won't be an illegal Other... Yes. Let's do that." 

 

: : 

 

"He died?" Mycroft's eyes began to well-up and he brushed at the tears quickly. "He died." 

 

"Yes honey." His mother murmured quietly, taking his father's hand. 

 

"But he can't die, he was meant to be my little brother who I could look after. Who I could teach. He can't die."  Mycroft mumbled. 

 

"I'm sorry darling. We are." His father took his mother's hands and sighed looking down. His eyes slowly dropped to the two figures sitting stationary on either side of Mycroft. "We got you a new pet for you though sweetie." 

 

Mycroft wiped his eyes and looked up at his parents out of his little seven year old face. "You did? Another one?" His voice sounded small but a little stronger now. 

 

"Yes." His mother smiled now. "He's a pretty one as well, Mycroft. You'll like him." 

 

"I like the other ones as well though, I can keep them too, right?" 

 

His father sighed and nodded looking at the two figures at his son's feet. "Yes you can darling but... but I wish you wouldn't let them use their ability's..." He looked at the dark shadows and prominent dark veins around their black eyes, eyes with only a ring of colour in them. "You really shouldn't." 

 

"But father! They're just fascinating!" Mycroft grinned and stroked his fingers through the taller Other's brown hair. "They're amazing creatures father." 

 

"Yes well you get another baby one now. Still has completely black eyes as well." 

 

Mycroft smiled and brushed the last few tears away and smiled weakly. "Thank you father." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any continued support! 
> 
> We'd love to hear from you so please tell us what you think! Thank you all. 
> 
> From M and C.


	5. Chapter II

Mycroft stared down into the pure black eyes of the baby boy that was his new pet. 

  


He sat and stroked the soft black curls. 

He sat and held the little body against his own gently cradling the little boy. 

He just sat and sat, staring at the baby boy. The little fascinating creature that was his now, all his. 

 

He wondered what he could do, this little creature. 

"Mycroft? What are you thinking?" 

Mycroft looked up at his other pet and smiled. "I'm only thinking about what powers he could possibly posses..." 

His pet smiled softly and gently reached out a hand to stroke the babies curls softly. He gently then began to run his hands over the babies body a couple of millimetres above the child's skin. "You know I could tell you that Mycroft." His pet grinned and removed his hands, clasping them behind his back and rocking on the balls of his feet. 

"John!" 

John immediately looked down and looked guilty. He mumbled, "I'm sorry Mycroft; I didn't think." 

Mycroft smiled ever so slightly at his pet; his lovely, little, four-year-old pet who was so obedient and well trained. "It's okay, John, it's fine." He chuckled quietly. "Tell me one of his powers?" 

John looked up and floundered for a moment before smiling a little. He whispered, "He can control fire." 

 

: : 

 

 Mycroft watched Mrs Hudson take the baby pet away to look after him smiling and swinging his legs. "I think that went well, don't you?" He turned and smiled at the taller boy next to him. 

"I do Myc..." 

He smiled at him happily still swinging his legs. "You do?" 

"Yep." His pet smiled back at him and patted his shoulder. "He's a pretty one too Mycroft, you got a pretty one." 

"I did at that Greg." Mycroft sounded gleeful. "And he's powerful too Greg...!" 

"Is he?" The pet raised his eyebrows and giggled. 

"Yes! He can control fire, just like you!" 

"Really?" Greg's chocolate brown eyes widened slightly, the blackness and dark veins around them suddenly looking less prominent. "John tell you that?"

"Yeah!" There was tangible excitement in Mycroft's voice. "But he's not another teller; that's just John so far. I made him clarify that." 

"Of course you did, Myc." Greg shrugged. "We've always known John's a rare commodity, you probably won't ever get another teller, they're prized, valuable and so rare that they're sold for millions. You know all this Mycroft."

"I do... I was only hoping, Greg..." Wistfulness shone through his words. 

"I know."

"But still, I'm lucky enough to even have one! And, of course, two Pyros." 

Greg chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Of course you are!" 

"Yeah..." 

 

They fell silent then, just sitting and thinking in companionable silence. That was until Greg broke it, "Time for bed Myc. Come on, you've had a long day." 

"I don't want to, not yet." Mycroft pouted. 

"Orders are orders, Myc. Now come on." And with that Greg helped him get ready for bed and climb in. 

 

Mycroft stared up at him, refusing to let go of his hand. "Greg? Stay with me? I'm always cold alone and you're always so warm..." 

Greg sighed. "Myc, not this again..." 

"Please?" Pleading mixed with wide blue eyes stared up at Greg. 

"...Fine..." Greg climbed in, pulling the covers up and high around them before putting his arms around Mycroft still fully clothed. "I'll stay." 

There was silence for a very long time, so long that Greg was convinced the younger boy was asleep. 

 

Eventually Mycroft mumbled, in an exceedingly sleepy voice; "Thanks Greg... love you." And Greg, despite himself, tightened his arms around the smaller body. This little boy tried to understand so much so hard and yet some things he just couldn't seem to grasp at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From M and C.


	6. Chapter III

Mycroft sat watching Greg stare into the fire. 

"Are you going to do it?" Mycroft whined; he knew  he was whining, he didn't care. He needed to see. 

Greg sighed and shook his head before chuckling quietly. "Myc! You need to let me concentrate..."

Mycroft pouted. "Then hurry up!" 

Greg hung his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Mycroft? He needs quiet for a second..." John sounded tentative and Mycroft turned to look at him. John looked down but when Mycroft didn't reprimand he glanced back up. "Um... some things need concentration, some things don't; like..." John smiled as he created a spark, twirling it around his fingers. 

 

Mycroft grabbed John's hand and raised it turning his hand from side to side. "Show me how!"

John giggled quietly. "I can't!" 

Mycroft sighed; a long suffering sigh of resignation. "At least explain..." 

John chuckled and spread out his fingers so that Mycroft could see them spread wide before pulling another spark into reality and tracing it through his fingers. Speaking quietly so that Greg could block them out and concentrate. 

"... Hhmmm... it's like... summoning energy to do exercise, to move. Except I'm using it for different things."

 

Mycroft exhaled. "That's fascinating." 

John shrugged. "I guess..." 

"You guess?! It is!" Mycroft hissed. 

John bowed his head in submission. "Sorry..."

Before Mycroft could answer Greg interrupted. "I'm ready."

Mycroft spun quickly to watch and even John turned to take in Greg as he stared into the flames, completely relaxed. 

They sat in silence until the flames began to dance, and not dance as normal; leaping higher and falling lower. No this was an actual dance; mini fiery figures waltzed in and out of the walls of flames and animals leapt from the walls and around the people. 

"Wow..." No matter how many times Mycroft saw this he was still amazed. "Make me a bird!?" 

John smiled and shook his head taking Mycroft's hand gently. They heard a quiet giggle from Greg before a bird flared up in the flames, sparks dancing across it's wings and feathers as they spread out before beating down in a mock flight. Mycroft gasped and leant forward grinning. 

 

Suddenly the sparks flared up and engulfed the whole bird. Greg collapsed backwards, his eyes rolling back into his head. John flinched before slumping.

"Gregory!" Mycroft scrabbled forwards- John flinched again, in pain- and clutched at Greg's shirt before cupping his face. "What's wrong with him?!"

John got up slowly and walked over, "Please, Mycroft? Calm d-down...?" His voice shook as he asked for this. 

Mycroft nodded and looked up slowly. "Sorry John, I forget about it. Sometimes." 

John nodded and sat down pulling Greg's head into his lap and running his hands over his body. "He's surpassed his limit, Mycroft. He's just tired..."

Mycroft sighed in relief and collapsed back, lying down. "Can you fix it, John?" 

 

John looked down at him. "Which would you rather have out cold, Mycroft? Greg or me?" 

Without hesitation Mycroft said, "You." 

John nodded and sighs. "Okay then." He smiled slightly at the genius before beginning to move them across Greg's skin. As he did his tiny hands began to glow and eventually he collapsed backwards, shuddering for a second before going still. 

Mycroft watched this in quiet awe of this little boy; he hadn't quite believed that the four-year-old would actually do it. 

He knew very well that Greg would've woken up in eight hours, or more, but that didn't stop the irrational fear that Greg wouldn't wake up. The Greg who looked after him, even when he was sick, the Greg who'd exert himself to please him, teach him, help him. That scared him, so much. 

And John knew it. In all his mini glory with his powers, a one in twenty. A one in a million though, considering his powers. John knew because he could feel it all too, like it was amplified; strong emotions could seriously hurt him, everyone tried to be careful but he generally had to leave, curl up in a quiet spot.

 

Mycroft felt bad using his emotions against John but as Greg groaned and began opening his eyes he couldn't care any less just now. Because Greg, his Greg was okay and he needed that. So he launched himself at the prone boy and settled into his side, curling in to him and holding on.


	7. Interlude II

_Between two lungs it was released_

_The breath that carried me_

_The sigh that blew me forward_

_'Cause it was trapped_

_Trapped between two lungs_

_It was trapped between two lungs_

_It was trapped between two lungs_

_And my running feet could fly_

_Each breath screaming_

_We are all too young to die_

_Between two lungs it was released_

_The breath that passed from you to me_

_That flew between us as we slept_

_That slipped from your mouth into mine_

_It crept between two lungs, it was released_

_The breath that passed from you to me_

_That flew between us as we slept_

_That slipped from your mouth into mine_

_It crept_

_'Cause it was trapped_

_Tapped between two lungs_

_It was trapped between two lungs_

_Now all the days of begging, the days of theft_

_No more gasping for a breath_

_The air has filled me head to toe_

_And I can see the ground far below_

_I have this breath and I hold it tight_

_And I keep it in my chest with all my might_

_I pray to God this breath will last_

_As it pushes past my lips, as I gasp, gasp_


	8. Chapter IV

_Three years later..._

: :

Sherlock sat quietly next to John trying to stop his legs swinging. John smiled indulgently down at him, taking his hand. "Calm down, Sherlie..." He winced slightly; despite being happy for the boy.

"I can't! Why is it that our cognitive functions develop so much faster than Regulars but my irises won't become coloured."

"They will, Sherlie. Calm down." Please.

"They're taking forever!"

John sighed and rolled his eyes, squeezing his hand. "It's your birthday today, Sherlock. You're irises are coming through today." He brushed a hand through his short sandy hair; it was stressful trying to reassure the tiny boy.

"When?"

John laughed quietly. "Today! Now calm down!"

Sherlock huffed but went back to swinging his legs in silence, but holding on to John's hand tightly, John smiled at the wall.

John knew he was afraid; he had been, Greg had told him that he was as well. It was natural but John didn't think that would really comfort Sherlock.

Mycroft suddenly barrelled into the room, dragging Greg behind him. "Has it happened?! Did I miss it?!"

John sighed, trying to hide his wince at the excitement. "You sound like Sherlock..." He smiled slightly. "No, it hasn't."

"Oh..." You could see Mycroft relax visibly and John relaxed as well, his shoulders slumping. Greg looked concerned and projected at him, John looked past Mycroft at him as he felt it.

_You okay?_

_Yeah..._

_Sure?_

_Too strong._

_Ah..._

John noticed Sherlock looking up at him then and squeezed his hand. _It's okay, darling._

 _What's wrong?_  Sherlock's mental voice was tinged with a bit of panic as he felt John's pain in is words.

Sherlock turned to glare at Mycroft as he realised that HE was causing John's distress. John gripped his hand tighter and shook his head.  _No, Sherlock, I'm fine. It's alright._

_But he-_

_He knows, it's okay, it'll be fine._

Sherlock sighed but left it, much to John's relief.

: :

Sherlock's irises didn't come through that day. John felt the little boys fear like a knife wound; open and sore. John watched as they came through two days later.

: :

Mycroft walked slowly into his father's study. He found his father hidden behind a pile of books,making his way through them slowly.

"Father?"

His father looked up in surprise. "Mycroft? What's wrong?"

"It's my pet." Mycroft wasn't entirely sure why he was telling his father this, he just felt like he should, like this man would want to know. Despite the disgust he generally treated Others with.

"What? What's happened?"

"The little one, you got his birthday wrong. It wasn't two days ago, it was today."

For some reason his father paled slightly. "Oh..." There was a long pause. "The trader must have gotten it wrong."

"Yes." Mycroft noticed the change in his fathers complexion. "Father, are you okay?"

"Y-yes I'm fine Mycroft."

Mycroft hesitated before broaching the delicate subject. "Father? Is it because he's born the same day as my brother was?"

His father looked up, his eyes betraying the shock he felt.

"I was seven, Father. I remember."

"Of course, I'm sorry, of course you do." He sighed. "Yes, it is."

Mycroft nodded slowly.

"You can go now, Mycroft, thank you for telling me."

"It's fine, father."

Mycroft turned and left but as he did he thought he might've heard his father say; "It's all about him..." But he didn't turn back to check, he didn't quite dare.


	9. Chapter V

Greg sat down and took John's hand gently. Sherlock, on the other side of John, glared. It was no secret that he followed John like a lost puppy; it amused Mycroft and him- John too, he believed.

Greg smiled at John, moving closer and squeezing his hand because, hey, annoying Sherlock was fun.

Sherlock made a little growling noise and held on to John's hand tighter. Greg felt John wince and immediately calmed himself.

John scrunched up his eyes and pulled away from both of them, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Greg hit Sherlock on the side of his head. "Oi! Calm down! Idiot..."

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to John and he immediately calmed himself.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry." Sherlock touched John's shoulder softly and John shied away, standing up, pacing away. "John?"

_Sorry... I almost have this..._

Greg frowned. "This?"

_Sometimes I can make it not hurt._

"John? It's okay, it doesn't matter."

_It does._

Sherlock looked worried now and it came through in his voice. "John?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" John sighed and clutched at his hair for a second before turning around. "Okay."

"Okay?" Greg raised his eyebrow.

John nodded and smiled weakly. "Sorry I freaked out."

Sherlock still looked a little worried but was obviously trying to keep it in check, for John's sake. "I-It's okay, John."

John smiled slightly and came back to sit between them. "I'm sorry." He took both of their hands. "But this isn't about me. It's about teaching Sherlock."

Greg finally nodded and squeezed John's hand before letting it go. "John's right, Sherlock." He smiled at Sherlock.

Sherlock look nervous suddenly. "Do I have to?"

John squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's alright to be nervous, after all Greg's teaching you how to control fire today."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Yeah..." He looked up at John. "Will you stay?"

"Of course, Sherlock." He smiled gently and pulled the small boy into a gentle hug.

Greg chuckled and watched for a moment before they broke apart. Then he began. "First we're going to learn how to control a flame and then we're going to create one..."


	10. Chapter VI

Greg raised his hand and with it the fire in the grate rose and then, as he lowered his hand, it fell again.

John watched impassively but Sherlock leant forwards. "How?"

Greg grinned and did it again, slowing it down this time. First he began to raise his hand. "At first actions are helpful to control the flow of power. As you raise your hand, feed energy through it. Make sure you're thinking of the flames though. And then push more energy through your hand." The flame flared up; as if fed by wood or coal, the sparks flying up. He then began to lower his hand and the energy output. "Slowly reduce the flow of energy, as you lower your hand."

Greg watched Sherlock raise and lower his hand but didn't feel him follow his instructions. Sherlock sighed in exasperation and then dropped his arm. He turned to John and whined, "John! It won't work..." He pouted, pulling a face and flopped down, resting his head in John's lap.

Greg rolled his eyes. "Get up, Sherlock." He said dispassionately as John pulled Sherlock upright gently. "You didn't even try."

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. "I did."

John sighed disappointedly. "Don't lie, Sherlock."

Sherlock groaned. "John!" He drew out the word in a pleading way. "Please. I don't want to control fire..."

Greg crossed his arms across his chest and remained quiet, letting John convince the little boy; he complained too much for his age anyway.

John just frowned, ever patient. "Why not?"

"Because then I'll be just like  _him_." Sherlock looked pointedly at Greg. "I won't be your favourite anymore, I'll be Mycroft's."

Greg laughed, almost bitterly. "What? I'm not Mycroft's favourite!"

Sherlock frowned. "Yes you are! He hangs on your every word."

Greg scoffed at this but before he could answer John interrupted what he could feel would become an argument. "Sherlock? You'll always be my favourite."

The boy looked up at John with eyes that belied his size. "Really?"

"Yes, Sherlock. So please? Learn what this gift has to offer, otherwise it could overwhelm you later on." John had actual worry in his voice.

Sherlock's shoulders slumped and he finally nodded. "Fine. I will."

Greg nodded. "Then do it again, Sherlock."

Sherlock groaned and began to raise his hand.

: :

It took about an hour but Sherlock eventually got it. Occasionally Mycroft drifted in and then drifted out, just checking up. Ever since John was learning how to control himself and his in take of emotions- he still was honing that skill- and had lashed out when Mycroft walked in because the room was too loud. He screamed a lot and lashed out with power at the other boy. Greg ha to restrain him and shout at Mycroft to get out. No one was really hurt but John had nasty burns down his right leg, from all that power he unleashed quickly in such an uncontrolled way; it gave him a limp for a long time and even now it came back occasionally, psychosomatic really.

When Sherlock grasped the basics of controlling fire Greg moved him on to forming a flame.

"Hold out your hand, only slightly cupped so that you form a little well." Greg checked that Sherlock was doing it right before nodding. "Yes, like that. Now when you create the flame, remember, it won't hurt you; you are feeding it. It needs you. But it can hurt other people."

Sherlock snapped. "I know! Tell me how!"

Greg broke. "Stop it!" He hissed. "Stop pushing me, you little shit! Because I'll break. You don't want that!"

John leant forward and gently put his hand on Greg's shoulder. "Greg! Calm. Please."

Greg breathed deeply trying to calm down before nodding at John. "Sorry. But he needs to know..." His eyes filled with regret. "Show him what I did."

John sighed. "No, Greg-"

"Show him!" Greg pleaded before glaring at Sherlock. "This is a kind warning Sherlock, if you then hurt someone by mistake that is your fault."

John sighed and unbuttoned his shirt slowing opening it to reveal what, to Sherlock's intelligent eye, showed to be a third degree burn or at least a second. It stretched across his right hip, up from his thigh apparently, and up to his lower rib or one of the lower ribs at the least. It was white and shiny, marring the tanned skin of John's torso. Around the silver whiteness was a redder area before the skin went back to bronze.

He looked away, unable to see that; something he could do if taught this.

"...Sherlock-" John sounded pained but Greg cut him off.

"He needed to see John. See what I did when I became careless, so he never will."

Sherlock took in a broken breath and shook his head. "I can't learn this, if I could do that, I can't."

Greg shook his head. "You will. And you'll learn from my mistakes too."

 


	11. Chapter VII

There is a turning point in most lives, and if one is lucky then the new path is a good one. If one isn't so lucky then the path you're set on can go bad, decay so quickly around you. Or moulder slowly and poison one's life until one's twisted and pained, clouded and murky.

Turning points come when they do, some seek to change that and some do not; some never want changes.

But some changes, no one notices; they creep in slowly. Slides into your life, shambling nonchalantly and settling into your mind like it's home. Which it is, after a while.

Sherlock was whispered a story at night, often. And, in turn, so was John. And then, again, Greg; the older Others in the household had whispered it to him.

Always whispered, never spoke. If the Normals had heard the story that Other would've been struck down, maybe even killed for their insolence.

But the story was passed around because the Others needed it, wanted what it spoke of.

The freedom.

The story goes as such...

In the spring, many years past. When snow still blanketed the ground, silencing the earth in its cool grasp, two boys wandered far from home.

Their father was a Path Tracker; he traced the paths the animals took, could feel them in his bones, and he used this as a hunter. Searched out their dens and slew them in their sleep.

Their mother was a Dream Wanderer, she walked the earth outside of her waking hours, knew lands she'd never laid eyes on and knew people she'd never known. That was her gift.

And they lived peacefully, away from Normal's harsh eyes and blood hungry weapons. In a community of their own kind.

They lived peacefully.

They lived happily.

One day the father went out hunting high in the mountains, but the boys stayed at home.

As their mother tended to her chores, the boys ran off; first they rough and tumbled in the snow before trying to follow their father, neither knew if they had his power, both knew only that they wanted to follow him, be like him when they were grown.

The two had gone to follow him but lost their way instead, wandering the frozen hills alone and scared. Their parents fear had turned to dread as they searched for their dear boys, many other people helped from the surrounding houses.

When, by dusk, they hadn't been found fires were built on the highest peaks. Sparingly though, as nobody wished to be found by the Normals.

The children lay huddled together crying; "Oh Mater and Pater, why can't you hear our cries? The day is almost over, soon it will be night..." They clutched each other, trying to find some comfort. "We're so tired and hungry. Our feat are tired and sore..." They began to sob together. "We promise not to stray again from our homes door."

The younger of the two tried to conger a fire but what merger power he had left was in no way sufficient to make more than a spark. The small boy slumped against his older brother who held him close and tight, understanding that the tiny boy couldn't be to blame.

Now their mother woke one night, from a strange and eerie dream; she saw a path between two snow covered hills, near a dark and swollen stream running cold with ice.

She told her husband of her dream and for two more nights it returned.

The mother saw her children crying; "Oh Mater and Pater, why can't you hear our cries? The day is almost over, soon it will be night..." They clutched each other, trying to find some comfort. "We're so tired and hungry. Our feat are tired and sore..." They began to sob together. "We promise not to stray again from our homes door." And she cried and cried for her lost little boys, just as they cried for their lost lives.

The local people searched in vain at the west side of the creek but the children's mother knew the place of her dream and directed them east to the place where her children cried and called to her, like a siren call. With their guide to take them there the men came upon the scene.

They found the boys cold and still beneath an old, twisted birch tree. The images of the stark white youths lying on crisp snow beneath the ancient trunk was at such odds with each other that many of the men paled and faltered in their walk.

For many years the mother's dreams were haunted by her children's cries; "Oh Mater and Pater, look past the tears you cry. We're past the point of harm now and we're by each other's sides. We've found our powers now, Mater." The boys smile then, holding each others' hands. "We're The Death Walkers, Pater, the Fates whispered it in our ears as we lay dying. So as you lay us down to rest in the presence of the Ladies, know that we will meet you here at Death's door."

The Death Walkers do their job, sacred duty; this is their power and ability. The little boys guide the souls to Death's gates and to the fates waiting arms.

They might have died alone, in a mountain pass with no one but now they shall never be alone again. They sleep wrapped in death's cloak in the arms of The Mother, under the watch and guidance of The Crone. With The Maiden as their sweet friend.

They are a constant in all Others lives. They can appear to those in trouble and guide them out of it. They'll fight for those who are just.

They even fought in the first Excidium War.

 

 


	12. Chapter VII

John's nosebleeds started when he was eleven and Sherlock was seven. He began to shake and get nosebleeds, once everyday at least.

 

It scared Sherlock.

 

It scared John.

 

Mycroft didn't know what was happening, hadn't got any idea. Neither had Greg. The older Others in the house whispered but refused to say anything or betray anyone.

 

Then he started having fits. His body convulsed and he'd scream himself hoarse, he'd cry until his black eyes were red rimmed.

 

All of this began to take its toll, he'd be weak and wobbly if standing or performing any task, the dark shadowed circles around his eyes began to fade, the black veins turning paler, as a mark that John was no longer using his powers.

 

Mycroft had forbade John from using his powers in case it weakened him, but as the days wore on with no powers John's fits got more frequent and more violent.

 

Mycroft's mother told him to put the poor thing out of it's misery.

 

Mycroft's father told him to call the vet because that 'poor thing' was expensive and rare and he refused to just waste money like that.

 

So Mycroft called the vet.

 

: :

 

"Open your mouth, John." The vet said gently to a pale John who was leant back against the wall, next to his tiny bed, for support.

 

John opened his mouth and vet shone in his torch checking everything.

 

Mycroft was sitting worried but impatiently holding onto Greg's hair tightly. Greg sat on the floor in front of him, where he sat on his own bed, trying not to wince when Mycroft occasionally tugged on his hair hard.

 

Sherlock sat on Mycroft's other side nervously playing with his hands, unsure what to do. Everyone knew he loved and trusted John completely. Greg didn't know what would happen if John died like this; deteriorating fast and screaming in pain.

 

A forgettable mousy haired Other stood in the corner holding the Vet's bag. She looked about six, definitely younger than Sherlock anyway. She was tiny and clutched at the bag looking scared and worried.

 

The vet muttered things and expressed his confusion before gesturing his mini assistant forward.

 

"Child, what do you make of this?"

 

The small girl shook her head. "I don't know, sir..." She frowned.

 

"Not good enough. Look again, tell me what you see."

 

The girl looked a little distressed and scared but swallowed and spoke in a voice that sounded stronger than she looked. "The patient is having fits and episodes. Its responses are normal but it is not using its powers and that appears to link to the fits... He could be-" she cut herself off quickly and looked down, colouring quickly.

 

"What? What? Spit it out!" Hissed the vet harshly, muttering afterwards; "I only got you for your diagnoses abilities."

 

"I... I can't..." She murmured.

 

The vet raised his hand. "You bloody well can! And you will!" The girl whimpered and raised her arms. "Tell me you dumb bitch!"

 

"He's the next Hunter! His body is trying to reject it, that's all. It'll take a while but he'll adjust." She whimpered quietly, blurting out what all the things all The Others had fought to protect about John. "If he doesn't die he'll survive."

 

John shivered and blood began to flow from his nose again. He quickly found a cloth and pressed it to his nose, whimpering at the pain. He spoke quietly, in a muffled and disused voice. "I... I can't be."

 

The small girl looked upset and began to apologise but the vet grabbed her arm, turning to Mycroft.

 

Greg, who had been holding Sherlock back from going to John, bared his teeth at the tall, sharply angled man with the cruel eyes and greasy, lank hair. He knew what this would mean for John and everyone he loved.

 

He hated this man.

 

"I'm very sorry," the vet said. Not sounding at all remorseful. "There's nothing I can do. He will either live or he will die."

 

The girl blurted out; "he has to use his powers, to practice." Which got her a sharp shaking and quick slap from the vet.

 

"We will be going now, send the money to my home. You know how much it is."

 

Before Mycroft could reply the man swept away, dragging the poor forgettable girl with him.

 

Just inside the door Mycroft's father caught him by the shoulder. "You can't report this."

 

"Why not?" The man jerked away. "I will be paid handsomely."

 

"I will pay you more."

 

"He is nothing to you! Why keep him?" The man bared his teeth. "It's against the law!"

 

"My son loves him."

 

"It's an animal. Just a pet. He'll get over it."

 

And, with that, the man left, hurrying down the front steps and into the pouring rain, falling from bruised and swollen clouds.

 


	13. Interlude IV

_The Devil's been stuck in my brain,_

_and he's been living there seventeen days_

_He said that I can do better_

_But I know I'll get better_

_I'll do anything to feel something_

_The voices they're loudest at night_

_And they're so loud that they're haunting my mind_

_Although I know it makes him unsettled_

_To know I'll get better, if I find something deep within_

_See I can't find the way, out my mind._

_Breathe in, I'm coming to get you_

_You need me, but I don't know how to reach you_

_You know I'm going to be the one_

_(But I don't wanna be the one)_

_But I don't wanna be the one!_

_Breathe in, I'm coming to get you_

_You need me, but I don't know how to reach you_

_You know I'm going to be the one_

_(But I don't wanna be the one)_

_But I don't wanna be the one!_

_I'm begging it to push me away_

_Cause this song will only drive me insane_

_I'm hoping just to sort it someday_

_And then it's just me and myself all the way_

_(So try sleeping with a stranger in your room._

_It spends time banging on your bedroom walls_

_The voices in the pitch black, letting you know that you're, not alone)_

_See I can't find the way, out my mind._

_Breathe in, I'm coming to get you_

_You need me, but I don't know how to reach you_

_You know I'm going to be the one_

_(But I don't wanna be the one)_

_But I don't wanna be the one!_

_Breathe in, I'm coming to get you_

_You need me, but I don't know how to reach you_

_You know I'm going to be the one_

_(But I don't wanna be the one)_

_But I don't wanna be the one!_

_(I'm coming to get you, I'm coming to get you)_

_I know I'm gonna be the one, but I don't wanna be the one_

_(Coming to get you, I'm coming to get you)_

_I know I'm gonna be the one, but I don't wanna be the one!_

_See I can't find, the way out of my mind._

_(Cause I don't wanna be the one, cause I don't wanna be the one)_

_The devil has his claws too deep inside_

_(Cause I don't wanna be the one, cause I don't wanna be the one)_

_See I can't find, the way out of my mind._

_(I'm coming to get you, I'm coming to get you, I don't wanna be the one, I don't wanna be the one)_

_The devil has his claws too deep inside_

_(I'm coming to get you, I'm coming to get you_

_I don't wanna be the one, I don't wanna be the one)_


	14. Chapter VIII

John panted and ducked behind a tree.

He'd been running for miles but he couldn't stop; could never stop. He wasn't there yet, he wasn't done yet.

He wished to The Walkers, to The Fates that he was done, that now was yet.

John gasped, catching his breath before inhaling deeply. The lime green tang of sour apples swirled before his eyes followed by the white-blue of a fresh water stream washed the green away.

John inhaled again and got the sudden hit of the musky scent of power and fear.

John gritted his teeth and growled quietly in the back of his throat.

He was ready for the hunt.

The kill.

He began chasing the scents, the instincts to find what could be his took over as he ran, kicking up dead leaves as he flew through the trees.

Then he was upon his quarry, his speed making it easy for him once he got on the right path; this one was clever, had presented a challenge. Covered their tracks and tried to escape.

No one could escape.

Not even him.

He grabbed a shoulder using his momentum and weight to throw the body to the floor and twist so that he was on top.

What he saw made him pause though. A small boy, tiny really stared up at him from a pale, malnourished face. Brown tangled curls were pasted to his sweaty forehead and wild green irises stared up at him in fear.

He looked to much like Sherlock.

John felt sick.

: :

The men had come the next week, from the army they said. Knocked on the door and made demands for The Hunter.

It didn't what anybody else wanted, this was the law.

The law was the law.

John's fainting hadn't improved but his nosebleeds were gradually getting less frequent. The household had begun to relax; believing they wouldn't come, that the doctor hadn't reported it.

They'd been wrong, so wrong.

Sherlock had received a kick because he'd spat an angry word at them, he was lucky that they thought so little of him that that is all he got. Greg made sure to hold him close after that, keeping a hand over his mouth.

For a moment he thought- believed- John looked grateful about that.

Mycroft stood silently watching with his parents as John was taken; lifted out of bed with a care not normally reserved for Others, his simple linen trousers clung to his frame as the plain cotton shirt did. Both garments were too short but the men didn't seem to care. The reverence they showed did not seem to have extended to the chill fog that had settled over the ground or the dew that made the grass damp and cold when they set John standing upon it to walk in bare feet.

The family and Others watched in a silent mourning as John was taken away with no goodbyes or apologies offered; in a distanced, cold manner.

He watched him stumble and a soldier support him. One of the serving Others ended up carrying the sickly figure from sight.

Mycroft's mother stood, unmoved by the sights and turned to go in before John had even disappeared. His father soon turned back to the comfort of home too. The main household of Others had remained inside so in the end it was only three children stood on the steps of the house staring at nothing but the cool grey mists.

: :

The boy looked terrified and croaked out one word. "P-please..."

John snapped back from thoughts of a little boy he'd been made to leave to stare at the frail child underneath him.

"Please."

John swallowed and looked mournful. "I'm sorry."

The boy's eyes began to well-up. "My mother's waiting for me, just beyond the borders-" His voice broke. "Please."

"You know... You know I can't do that..."

"Why? Why not? You have my father already. You don't need me."

John growled. "That's not how this works! I can't help it, just like you can't help hiding. Cloaker."

"How did you-?" The boy started.

John winced. "I can tell. I can't help it."

The boy shook his head. "I hid myself, you found me but- but let me go and I'll hide myself better, I promise. Please. Just tell them you couldn't find me."

John breathed in unsteadily, the boy's looks and reasoning were reminding him too strongly of what he'd lost.

"Please." The boy begged again.

John stared down at the tiny creature. All of his instincts screamed that he'd be useful, that he could use him. But that wasn't what would happen if he didn't move, the boy would be taken, as his father had been.

He shook his head, he could lie; he could save the boy. He had a family after all, and what did John have to lose? No one, not anymore.

John began to stand and as he did a hand fell on his shoulder. "Good work, Hunter." Said a gravelly voice- that voice, John hated it to his very core. It made his hackles rise and made him want to snap and hurt the man. It sent shivers down his spine and set his teeth on edge.

The hand tightened on his shoulder and pushed him to the ground. "But, what have we here?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> So hey! A new story, not that we needed another one but there we go!
> 
> So um, follow us on tumblr at cute - will - kill . tumblr . com, we'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Thank you for any continued support and thank you for your kindness. 
> 
> From M and C


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